Steven lay on his bed, the glow of his phone casting a soft light across his face as he scrolled through Instagram well past 2 a.m. The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves outside. He was about to set his phone aside when he heard a faint sound from the balcony—a subtle shift in the air that made him pause.
Opening the door, he found Maya standing there, her silhouette framed against the dim city lights. She looked disheveled, her hair tousled and her steps unsteady, clearly affected by alcohol. Concerned, Steven stepped closer.
"Aren't you cold?" he asked quietly.
"I am," Maya replied, her voice soft but slightly slurred as she swayed where she stood.
"Go inside your room," Steven urged gently, reaching out a hand. "You shouldn't be out here like this."
Maya hesitated before stepping closer, a hint of challenge in her eyes as she met his gaze. "Are you telling me to go away?" she asked, chin lifted defiantly.
